


bliss of another kind

by dollsome



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24314470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: “God, I hate weddings,” Eve groans.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 31
Kudos: 248





	bliss of another kind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Eve/Villanelle + weddings" from jenny-calendar on Tumblr! :) This has some references to s3 haps, and I guess is set in a distant, happily-ever-after-assassin-team future?

“God, I hate weddings,” Eve groans.

“What?” Villanelle looks at her with genuine alarm. The stuff that genuinely alarms Villanelle is more plentiful that Eve would’ve thought once, and usually weird as hell. “Who hates weddings?”

“You don’t?”

“No way. They are magical. Look at them shoving cake into each other’s faces and promising to love each other forever.”

“Adorable,” Eve says, making a face. There’s only one thing that could get her to sit through the opulent wedding reception of a few rich, fancy strangers, and that’s work. Fortunately, they’ve got a job to do. “I’m better at funerals.”

Villanelle ignores her. She’s still mesmerized by the performative bliss happening next to the eighty-tiered wedding cake.

“I always wanted to do that. I saw it in a movie once.” Villanelle touches her own lips lightly, like she’s imagining overpriced cake being shoved there by her one true love. “Didn’t you do that at your wedding?”

“Ours was more of a City Hall thing.”

“Boo,” says Villanelle. She doesn’t take it any further, though. She’s never mentioned Niko, except to apologize for what Dasha did. Eve appreciates that.

“So you’re saying you would go the whole fairytale enchanted wedding bullshit route?” Eve rests her chin on her hand, fixing her eyes on Villanelle.

“I did.”

“What?”

Villanelle grits her teeth, grimace emoji style. “I might have married someone a little bit while you were dead. Don’t worry, it was over by the time I left the reception. She was so not my type. Super needy.”

“So you don’t have a super needy secret wife stashed somewhere. Good to know.”

“Sometimes you need a rebound bride.”

“Oh, obviously. Silly me, I just got a gunshot scar and a line cook job.”

“You already had somebody to be married to,” Villanelle points out. “Maybe I wanted us to be equal.”

Eve considers it. “Fair enough.”

Villanelle watches the happy couple fawn over each other and the giant cake some more. Her eyes don’t even dart to their target once, even though Eve keeps stifling the urge to glance where he sits a few tables away from them. Villanelle’s ability to turn it off and on still staggers her. (That there's a Villanelle even when the switch is turned to 'off,' though -- that, Eve always knew. She loves getting to explore it now at her leisure, like a kid at a carnival with no parental supervision. Sticky fists full of cotton candy. Giddy-drunk on bright lights and lurching Ferris wheels and funhouse mirrors that reflect you better than normal ones.)

“So, tell me about your wedding,” Eve says, flirting a little.

“I wore a suit.”

“Sounds hot.”

“It was. Next time, though, I think I want a dress. Something poofy and expensive as shit. And a veil. Or a tiara. Or both.” Villanelle gazes at the angel-painted ceiling, daydreaming up her exquisite bride self. “Yep, definitely both.”

“Next time?” Eve asks, lifting her eyebrows.

Villanelle brings her gaze down and stares at her for a long time, eyes gleaming, mouth curving up. Eve’s struck with a sudden, bonkers vision of them covered in white tulle and kissing in a chapel, petals falling around them. Kamikaze doves and empty pews.

“Dance with me.” Villanelle stands abruptly.

“We’re supposed to be working.”

“Give it some time. He’ll be easier to kill when he’s drunk.” She wiggles her fingers, beseeching. Her eyes are wide and sweet. “Don’t break my heart, Eve Polastri.”

“No promises,” Eve says wryly, but she takes Villanelle’s offered hand anyway, and lets herself be whirled onto the shiny floor.


End file.
